


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by thegraytigress



Series: The Sexy Misadventures of Agents Romanoff and Rogers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4303929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While stranded on a snowy mountain during a mission, Steve and Natasha find ways to warm each other up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ and _The Avengers_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** M (for language, adult situations)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I am sure this has been done before (tropes and clichés galore!) and probably done better. But whatever! Enjoy some steaminess. And warnings for sex (obviously).

Well, this mission had gone south pretty quickly.

Natasha was running hard, fast, streaking through the shadows and the snow because there were about twenty thugs following her.  Maybe more.  And guns were blazing, of course.  Guns were always blazing.  “Rogers!” she barked into her mic sewn into her gauntlet.  “Coming out hot!”

“I could make a joke about that,” came Steve’s reply.  “You know, because you’re coming out _hot_ –”

She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t in the middle of fighting the guys in front of her.  “Don’t even.”

“–but things are already hot out here!”  As if to accentuate his claim, something big exploded down the hill by the perimeter fence he was supposed to be guarding.  Natasha winced and then ducked under the punch of one of the black ops soldiers outside the bioweapons lab they’d been sent to infiltrate.  It was deep in the Cascades in Washington State, probably as remote as one could get in the continental US, buried in snow and cold and blustery winds.  Their task had been a simple one.  Get in.  Steal the data SHIELD wanted acquired.  And get out, all of this, as per usual, without detection.  Everything had been going fine until that last part.  She must have tripped something on the way out, something she hadn’t seen on her way in, and now they were engaged in a fairly sizeable brawl in the middle of a blizzard.  “I thought you said you had this under control!”

“I do!” she returned, grabbing the wrist of the guy throwing the next punch, cracking it, and then flipping him over her.  The soldier wailed, landing on his back in the snow.  Natasha darted to the left, avoiding a spray of gunfire that ripped rents into the recently plowed pavement of the parking lot.  “This is control!”

Through the curtains of white, she could see something silver spinning.  His shield.  And then him, spinning after it and landing a massive roundhouse kick into the chest of one of the men trying to shoot him.  “If this is control, I’d hate to see what you call a disaster.”  She saw him land, fading for a moment into snow and shadows.   “‘I’ll handle it, Cap,’ she said.”  He heard him grunt and someone else scream.  “‘Don’t worry, Cap,’ she said.”  Another cry, and gunfire bursting into the night.  “‘I’m Black Widow.  Master of the shadows.  They won’t see me coming.’”

“I did _not_ say that!”  His impersonation of her was pretty terrible.  “And what happened to Captain America who wanted radio silence on ops because–”  She paused for a breath, driving her foot into the midriff of the next man charging her, before pivoting and slamming her palm into the solar plexus of the guy behind her.  “–it’s too distracting and–”  Another breath, cartwheeling through the snow to handspring up, curl her body around her target’s torso, and bring him down.  “–comms aren’t meant for–”  And another breath, and landing a series of lightning quick strikes against the subsequent group of men trying to take her down.  She had them sprawling in the snow and moaning in a flash.  One was still standing, and he yowled and charged her.  “–for stupid chit-chat!”  She knocked the gun from his hands as she side-stepped his attempt at a tackle, kicking at his knee once with enough force to break it before flipping herself over his shoulder and ramming her elbow into the back of his head.  He moaned and slumped.  Natasha panted slightly, appraising the slew of unconscious assailants she’d left behind in satisfaction.  “Sometimes I actually miss Captain Hard-ass.”

Steve’s voice was teasing in her ear.  “What was that?  You broke up a little.  Did you say you miss my ass?”

She couldn’t help her smile.  Really couldn’t.  But a cacophony of shouts from behind her ruined the moment.  Another company of soldiers was already coming, and more alarms were blaring inside the installation.  Bright flood lights turned on all over the complex, rotating and sending out starkly white beams of illumination as they searched for the SHIELD agents.  She took a moment to secure the USB stick with the data on it in one of the pouches on her belt before taking off in a full sprint down the hill toward the perimeter fence, dodging both bullets and the lights.  “Are we clear?”

“Clear,” he affirmed, “but the fence is on lockdown.”  She saw him then, a dark blue shadow by the gate in question.  Where they flanked him, one watch tower was burning and the other was clearly, and the black blobs on the ground already buried in the snow were obviously the guards, all of them unmoving.  He stood tall, his shield back on his back, eyes somehow bright in the heavy night.  He saw her coming, his quick gaze tracing her movements easily though she _was_ a master of the shadows.  Then he crouched, cupping his hands.  “Come on.”

She leapt, landing her right boot in his palms, and he threw her upward a good twenty feet.  She flipped, sailing over the top of the fence, curling into herself before stretching long on the other side to land nearly silently in the snow.  Then she turned.  He’d already retreated up the hill a little to get a running start, and he came sprinting through the steadily falling snow.  He was nothing but pure power, strength, and speed, as he jumped up nearly as high as he’d thrown her.  His fingers latched around the fence at the top, and he gracefully hauled himself up and over.  Or it would have been graceful, but the search light washed right over him, and gunfire followed.  Natasha felt a prick of fear as the bullets clanked against the fence and against his shield on his back.  Steve lost his grip on the slick metal and fell.  He landed hard on his rear.  “Ow,” he moaned, wincing and leaning up.

Natasha was right at his side, grabbing his arm in equal parts of giving comfort, seeking reassurance that he was okay, and getting him on his feet so they could flee.  “Captain Broke-His-Ass?” she joked lightly as he stood, limping the first step.

“You’re a laugh riot,” he quipped, but the harder tone of his voice suggested he’d had about enough of this fight.  “Now can we get the hell out of here?”

Together they tore through the snow.  The lab was nestled in the woods, the thick pines of a sprawling coniferous forest, so they immediately surged into cover.  However, it was so dark with the heavy clouds overhead dumping snow and the trees blocking whatever paltry light there might have been, and that made navigating the twisting maze of massive trucks something of a challenge.  The snow was deep, too, and loaded with drifts that were unexpectedly thicker in some places and thinner in others.  Natasha struggled, falling behind a little, trusting Steve’s serum enhanced senses to find their way and his muscle-bound form to plow a path.  For a few long minutes, they did nothing but run, silent and steady.  Then the forest abruptly fell away, and they found themselves staring at a pristine field of unbroken white.  It was the lake.  Natasha struggled to catch her breath a second or two as they stood on the shoreline, the icy air harsh in her aching lungs.  “How far is the extraction point?”

“Three miles,” Steve said, “on the other side and up that mountain there.”  He pointed to the darker line on the north side of the expanse.  A hulking mammoth of shadow and snow rose there, covered in dense forest.

Natasha looked behind them, stilling her pounding heart and quiet pants to focus.  She strained her ears and watched carefully, trying to detect any sign of pursuit.  The night was silent aside from the random creaks and moans of boughs overloaded with snow.  “I don’t think they’re following us.”

“No,” Steve agreed.  He pulled his helmet off for a moment, running his hand through sweat-dampened blond hair and causing it to go from mussed to a state of complete disarray.  She smiled despite the situation.  “But it’s still dangerous going across.”

“How long until extraction?”

He glanced at his watch embedded in his glove.  She knew he didn’t need to, that he had the mission timed down to the second in that amazing brain of his.  That was one of the many things she should have known but hadn’t expected about Captain America.  His sense of time passing was uncanny.  “Thirty minutes.”  Thirty minutes to hike three miles through heavy snow to make it to the safe house and extraction point.  They could certainly do it but probably not if they went around the lake.  That would take them at least a mile out of the way, maybe more.  “And it’s thirty minutes assuming they can bring the quinjet in,” Steve added.  He squinted, looking up at the heavy cascade of snow.  It had already coated his hair and was thick on his lashes.  His breath was a long jet of heavy vapor from his slightly parted lips.  “Weather gets worse and all bets are off.”

Natasha looked across the frozen spread of the lake.  They’d be out in the open.  “It’s a risk.”

He grinned mischievously.  That was another thing she had _never_ expected about him.  You get under the mantle of Captain America, beneath the shield and the cool, commanding officer and the righteous leader, and Steve Rogers was something of a sassy, smart-ass.  “Isn’t it always?”

She smiled back.  “Well, standing around here’s not getting us anywhere.  So let’s go.”

He nodded, put his helmet back on, and simply hopped down from the shoreline onto the lake.  Of course he’d go first.  That used to bother her, but it didn’t anymore.  She waited until he was confident the ice would hold them, though he didn’t need to check.  It was the middle of winter and had been so damn cold for weeks that the lake was probably frozen a foot thick.  Then he nodded at her, and she hopped down beside him.

They ran again.  Now wasn’t the time for talking.  Moving across the ice and through the snow (which was itself nearly a foot thick) was strenuous work, and breath couldn’t be spared for conversation.  The silence was comforting in a way, and Natasha stayed close to Steve, letting him lead.  She was getting cold to the bone, despite the physical exertion.  And she was content to let herself drift a little, even though it was sloppy and maybe a bit unprofessional.  Extraction in thirty.  Then a flight back down to the LA field office.  Deliver the goods to Sitwell where he was overseeing their op from there.  And then to a hotel.  SHIELD could damn well pay for a room for them tonight, considering they’d been unceremoniously and unexpectedly called into work for this mission on a day off.  Did anyone know or care how hard it was to coordinate a shared vacation day when you were Captain America and Black Widow?  Despite the power, sway, and clout they both had, it was surprisingly difficult to manage the logistics of that.  They’d been partners for a year now, and _together_ for six months, and this was the first time she’d been able to arrange her schedule and clear Steve’s so that they’d had _an entire day_ to themselves, curled up in his warm apartment in DC while this miserably cold winter blustered on outside.  They’d both been worked too hard, mission after mission after mission, and that wasn’t counting other obligations, like the Avengers and training for SHIELD and consulting for the Army.  The concept of a day off had been so novel and overwhelming that he hadn’t seemed to understand when they’d woken up that morning and she’d told him in between heated kisses that they weren’t going in today and tossed his phone (and hers) far, _far_ away from his bed.  Captain America, taking a day off.  _Freedom_ to do whatever he wanted.  He hadn’t even known what to do with that.

She’d had plans.  Really good ones.  _Really_ good ones.  Mundane to some, maybe, but _glorious_ to them.  Laying around all day.  Making love.  Lazing in front of his TV with junk food watching re-runs.  Making _more_ love.  Cuddling with her own personal heat source until the chill of winter was finally gone from her body.  Making a _ridiculous_ amount of love.

Yes, she’d _had_ plans.Past tense.  Because Sitwell had shown up, banging on Steve’s door since they weren’t answering their phones (take the hint much?), and blown her dreams and all her hard work to smithereens.  And now they were here, fresh from a firefight and running across a frozen lake in the middle of a frigid, icy wasteland instead of back in Steve’s warm, snuggly bed, wrapped up together and exhausted from a long day of doing nothing but each other.  She was exhausted, granted, but for all the wrong reasons.  Damn, this was a lot of work.

“It is kinda pretty.”  It had been so long since they’d spoken that Steve’s soft comment didn’t get her attention right away.  Him slowing to a stop in front of her did, though.  He was probably giving her a little breather.  Again, that would have irritated her months ago.  Now she just appreciated that he did it without ever making her feel like she wasn’t anything but his equal.  They were about three-quarters of the way across the lake.  He paused, a little bit winded himself (a very little – it took a lot to wear out Captain America, and she knew that for a fact), and looked around at the now gently falling snow.  The wind had died, so it was silent out here, nothing but the clouds above them, the ice beneath them, and the snow falling around them.  “Cold’s not so bad sometimes.”

She was surprised at that, no lie, and stared at him doubtfully.  “You’re just about the last person I’d ever imagine saying something like that.”

He turned his sweeping, appraising eyes to her.  His chapped lips lifted into a smile, one of many she knew so very well now.  This one is a little teasing but a little rueful, too.  “Just tryin’ to make the best of the situation,” he replied.  “Since we’re here.  Besides, being cold means it can be fun getting warm.”

“Oh, I intend to when this is over,” she replied, giving up on taking in the landscape to keep going.  She found some energy to sway her hips at him (which probably looked more goofy than sexy considering she was almost knee-deep in snow so the sway was more a waddle), but his eyes went to the right places anyway.  She could play him like a violin.  “When we’re done here, I intend to put you back _exactly_ where I had you.  And I intend for _you_ to spend quite some time and effort getting _me_ nice and hot.”

“That’s terrible,” he chastised, but it got the job done.  It always did.  His cheeks immediately flushed with more than just the cold and the exertion, his eyes swimming in a look that she knew all too well as she walked past him, a look that she was an expert at drawing out of him.  And it took _way too much_ to just keep walking.  This had been a challenge of late, actually _working_ when they were supposed to be working.  The missions themselves went fine; they always did because they functioned impeccably well as partners.  But during the downtime before and after, when anxieties were silently building or pent-up energy demanded release…  Well.  When it became obvious they were having a bit of trouble keeping their hands off each other, she’d been the one, surprisingly, to promise they’d never have sex on a mission.  Stay professional.  Contrary to popular opinion among SHIELD agents and the Avengers alike, Black Widow was fairly by the books.  This wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy a thrill or two here and there, or that she didn’t occasionally break a few rules or bend the mission directives.  However, she usually did those sorts of things for a _good_ cause, like saving innocent children or getting civilians clear or stopping the bad guys from doing bad things.  Debauching Captain America hardly seemed like a good cause for anyone but her (and him, of course.  Definitely him).  She could joke that it was a solemn civic and patriotic duty to show the First Avenger a good time (and she did _way too much_ ), but it wasn’t.  Not really.

Her eyes drifted down his body hungrily, and it was _so hard_ (Lord, that double entendre _was_ terrible) not to pounce on him and climb him like a tree.  And he’d let her.  He was putty in her hands, and he liked being that way.  “You want me to carry you?” he said.  Months ago she would have been insulted at the mere implication that she couldn’t keep up, that she was slowing him down.  Not now.  As much as he liked her power, he also liked protecting her, liked taking care of her.  And she liked that.  All of it.  And maybe he was a _tad_ concerned that this was too much for her, but the teasing tone in his voice suggested he had an ulterior motive.  He was never that subtle with them.  “You know, just so we can get out of here faster and get back to what we were doing.  There are still a couple of hours left in our day…”  He trailed off, eyes glazing as he focused on something else.  Something he was hearing.

Natasha immediately slipped into seriousness like she’d never left it, all of her muscles loose and ready and all of her senses honed.  “What is it?”

“Chopper,” Steve answered. 

In the second that followed, she heard it too, that familiar sound of rotors beating through air.  In the mountains, it echoed over and over again, sounding like it was coming from everywhere.  She knew he could localize its source.  “SHIELD?” she asked, although she doubted they’d be so lucky.

They weren’t.  “Coming from the lab?  Doubt it,” he said through gritted teeth.

 _Shit._   Then it wasn’t a question anymore.  They might be partners, equals in most ways, in every way that really counted, but she wasn’t stupid or vain enough not to recognize and take advantage of the fact that he was physically much stronger and faster than her.  He pulled his shield, and she jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist so his arms could be free.  And he ran.  He plowed through the snow like it wasn’t there, his boots steady on the ice.  Behind them the roar of the helicopter got louder and louder, ominously so, until it was the only sound in the silent night.  Lights slashed through the snow and shadows, searching and sweeping across the woods and then the barren stretch of the lake.  They were going to be spotted. There was no hiding, no cover anywhere, _nothing_ but the yet hundreds of feet between them and the shore.  And Steve was quick, but he wasn’t that quick.

Natasha grimaced, grinding her teeth together, as awful illumination enveloped them.  The chopper was equipped with a minigun, and whoever was operating it was already shooting wildly.  Bullets sprayed around them, slamming into the snow and the ice beneath it with hollow snaps and cracks.  Steve dodged, jerking to the left and then to the right.  The strength of his arm pressed down over her right knee and calf, holding her in place as he tried to make them into more difficult targets.  She pulled her gun, leaning back and twisting as much as she could without destroying Steve’s balance to fire at the helicopter.  It was pointless, and she knew it, but she’d do anything she could to help.  Maybe a lucky strike would somehow hit the bastard with the minigun or the pilot or _something._

But no.  She ducked with an alarmed yelp as the minigun let loose a barrage of bullets over her head, shooting ahead of them.  That caused Steve to stop short, and the lack of friction between his boots and the ice did him in.  He gave a cry, twisting to protect her as he slid and fell.  Natasha gasped when her hip and side slammed painfully into the ice.  Steve had inadvertently thrown her so he wouldn’t crush her, and now she was a good six feet from him and moaning in the snow.  His shield hit the ice with a dull rattle.  The minigun abruptly stopped, and for a moment as she lifted her head out of the cold and squinted through the curtains of sparkling white around her, she wondered if these guys were actually going to attempt to take them prisoner.

Again, no.  What came after was worse.  Much worse.  She heard the sound of the RPG launcher before she saw the rocket.  “Steve!” she warned, but it was too late.  He was up and scrambling away, crawling through the snow and trying to get his feet beneath him.  He couldn’t quite, but he managed to clamber and struggle enough in that split second to get some distance between where he had been and where he was.  The rocket hit nothing but the ice of the lake with a deafening roar and a blast of heat.  Natasha could hardly breathe as she covered her head with her arms and waited for the explosion to dissipate.  When she frantically looked, she saw Steve’s somewhat prone form a little away from her, alive and mostly well ( _thank God_ ).  Then there was a horrendous crack, loud and echoing.  Then another.  And another.  They were thunderous, noisier and more terrifying than the whir of the chopper, and it took her a moment to realize _what_ was making that sound.

 _The ice._   A huge fissure in the lake spread rapidly from the broken hole where the rocket had hit.   More fractures followed.  Like cracks in a window, they fanned out randomly, weakening, destabilizing.  Shattering.  Shattering right under Steve.  With a cry, he was sucked down into the water.

Horror didn’t begin to describe what Natasha was feeling.  _“Steve!”_ she screamed, her voice hoarse and twisted like it had never been before.  He was gone beneath the surface, the water calm and rippling like ink, like liquid glass under the pressure of the air sucked and sliced by the massive rotors overhead.  Natasha scrambled toward to the hole but stopped, both because the ice around it was definitely not safe and because their attackers were aiming that spotlight at her now.  She didn’t stop her rage, not when Steve was drowning in _water and ice_ , and unloaded the remains of her magazine at the chopper.  Again, it was futile.  She heard the minigun whir to life again, and she rolled through the snow into the shadows.

And right into Steve’s shield.

Her frozen and numb fingers curled around the leather of the straps almost instinctively, and she picked it up before she quite realized what it was.  The vibranium was ice cold, _colder_ than cold, and wet.  She tucked herself behind it as a volley of bullets slammed into it and the lake around her, her mind racing as the shield absorbed the impacts.  She needed to drop this thing so she could find Steve.  She couldn’t see the hole in the ice from where she was.  Was he there?  Was he at the surface or drowning down beneath?  What if he was drawn away from the hole and couldn’t find his way back?  God, the fear inside her was punishing, more than the frigid air and the gunshots pulverizing the ice all around her.  _She needed to save him._

In a blink, she looked over the edge of the shield and figured out what to do.  She could only hope she could manage it, both making the shot and making it with enough force behind it to actually do some damage.  The moment the minigun gave up on her, its operator likely readying the RPG launcher once more, she moved.  She flung Steve’s shield up.  She could only see the belly of the chopper given its position over her and the light, but that was alright.  The shield arced toward the back of the aircraft, cutting into the tail by the rotor.  It didn’t go very deep, not with only her strength behind it, but it was enough to damage the working parts there.  The effect was instantaneous.  The tail rotor stopped, and the helicopter immediately swung to the left.  It was so close to the ground that there was no time for the pilot to counteract the spin, and it tipped thankfully away her, its rotors slicing loudly into the ice before breaking.  And the man inside with the arsenal of weapons had probably been in the process of firing that RPG, because in true action-movie fashion, the aircraft exploded the minute it hit the frozen surface of the lake.

Natasha dove, covering her face and head against the rush of heat.  She was knocked back a few feet, the ice providing no traction to slow herself.  When the roar of the blast disappeared and left behind only the calm crackling of fire, she looked back and saw only a smoldering wreck and Steve’s shield lying upside down and idle near the burning carcass.

_Steve._

She wasted no time, clambering to her feet and skidding her way back to the hole in the lake.  With the flaming mess some feet behind her, there was light at least.  As it burned, though, the surface would only destabilize more.  She couldn’t stay there long.  “Steve!” she cried, whirling and looking _everywhere._   Snow covered the lake around her.  She couldn’t see beneath it, so she had no idea where to search.  Frantic terror drove her as she kicked and brushed the snow away as close to the hole as she dared to go.  The cracks were huge, widening as the heat from the burning chopper spread and softened the ice.  She stared at the water lapping in the hole, but it was still.  There was no sign of him.  “Steve!” she yelled again.  Only the echo of her voice answered her.  And she shouldn’t be yelling like this; obviously the soldiers from the lab were after them, and her screaming was a dead giveaway as to their position.  But she couldn’t not do it.  She could hardly make herself breathe, panic leaving her shaking far more than even the miserable cold.  “Steve!  Oh, God…”  She’d never be able to find him.  The lake was probably deep, and aside from this gouge in the ice, it was wide and solid and undisturbed.  She floundered with that helpless realization, _that there was no way she could find him_ , and her body hummed in desperation and her eyes burned with furious tears.  The thought of him…  _No!  “Steve!”_

There was a soft crack behind her and to the left.  Then another, louder.  Natasha spun so fast she nearly slipped.  The ice behind her shattered, punched upward and out by a fist.  _Steve._   She ran before she even thought to, sliding to her knees and then her belly at the side of the small hole as Steve’s face popped up from the lake with a cry and a frenzied draw of air.  She grabbed at his hand, his arm, anchoring him, _pulling_.  Steve groaned and gasped, shaking wildly, trying to get himself up through the hole but it wasn’t big enough for the broad expanse of his shoulders.  There was no way she was strong enough to help him break ice that thick, so she was forced to do nothing but curl her fist in his sopping wet uniform and watch as he slammed his elbow and fist with as much strength as he could muster to widen the gap.  He gracelessly worked at it for a seeming eternity before he managed to enlarge it to fit himself through it.  Natasha grabbed his shoulders and pulled anew, pulled with everything she had.  After a moment of wet squirming, sputtering, and struggling, he was up and out of the lake and sprawled on top of her on the ice.

Natasha wrapped her arms around him tightly, staring up at the snow coming down, trying to catch her breath, trying to get past her relief.  Steve was shivering wildly and coughing desperately.  She held him through that, as his body worked to bring up and expel the water inside it.  When that passed, he was positively rigid over her, his breath a weak, uneven, shaking thing against her neck.  “Oh, God, Steve,” she whispered, closing her eyes and just relishing this because she’d come so close to losing him…

“Ch-changin’ my m-mind about th-this bein’ pretty,” he chattered.  “T-to hell with… with the c-cold.”

She gasped out a laugh and kissed his forehead and then his frozen lips.

* * *

Getting to the safe house was a lot harder with a hypothermic, barely functional super soldier dragging her down.  Steve was practically dead weight against her, struggling with every step, tripping over his own feet _and_ hers.  Natasha gritted her teeth as she lugged him, one hand around his waist, the other keeping his securely across her shoulders.  Everything was so heavy: him, her own feet, even his shield, which she had on her back.  Her muscles positively throbbed with exertion, with the need to rest _._   She was frustrated and irritated (not with him – God, no, not after what he’d gone through, but with this whole situation) and tired and sore and _beyond cold._   Steve’s sodden uniform was so wet it was practically black and so icy it was nearly frozen stiff, further inhibiting his already inhibited movements.  And the water from it had soaked into hers, going straight through the fabric and leather into her skin and down deep to her bones.  As they struggled through the woods up the mountain, she wondered if she’d ever be warm again.

“SHIELD five-three-seven, this is Black Widow.  Come in,” she said into her wrist communicator.  Her voice was quivering, and her teeth were chattering, and she was putting a damn stop to that because Black Widow _did not_ shiver.  “What’s your status, over?”

She’d been in near constant contact with the SHIELD field office in LA over the last forty-five minutes. The weather was making it impossible for them to send an extraction team (of course) but they were looking into other options (of course) and so far not finding any ( _of course_ ).  There was a blizzard brewing over the Cascades.  By some minor miracle it hadn’t directly hit Natasha and Steve yet, but Steve was right: it was soon in coming.  The snow had intensified again, and the wind had picked up.  They needed to get out of here.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be in the cards.  “Black Widow, this is five-three-seven.  Our birds remain grounded.”

Ire pricked through her, and she tightened her grip on Steve as he staggered and nearly took them both down.  It was only through sheer refusal to face-plant in the snow that she kept him upright.  “I guess I need to remind you that we need a med-evac!  Captain Rogers has severe hypothermia!”

“Is he conscious?  Can you treat him with the supplies in the safe house?” returned the annoyingly calm voice of the SHIELD operative.

Natasha gritted her teeth.  Yes, he was conscious.  Somewhat.  And she supposed she could take care of it herself if she had to.  Most SHIELD safe houses were fully stocked with weapons, provisions, and first aid supplies.  Even though she wanted to get Steve out of this wintry hell to the best possible medical care imaginable because of what this _meant_ to him, she was a hardened assassin, Avenger, and SHIELD agent.  She could handle herself in the field in the direst of dire situations.  Furthermore, she knew (and had sadly seen) that Captain America could survive a lot worse than falling into a frozen lake.  Still, he needed first aid quickly.  Staying out here was compounding the problem.  “When’s the soonest point med-evac will become available?”

There was a pause on the other end.  “We’ll keep you informed, but our pilots are telling us it’ll be a few hours at least.”  Not the answer she wanted _at all_.  This was bullshit.  _So much for a nice hotel room tonight._   “Maintain radio contact.”

“Roger,” she seethed, pissed off as all get-out.

“Five-three-seven out.”

Natasha paused at the crest of a hill.  She needed a breather, needed a moment to reclaim her equanimity.  Visibility had gone to utter crap not long ago, but she was pretty sure she could see the outline of the cabin ahead.  “Looks like we’re on our own,” she said to Steve.

His head was hanging down between his shoulders, his breath a weak cloud of vapor and his eyes half-lidded.  “Not… not surprising,” he groaned.

“Got a few more steps in you?”  He groaned again, rougher.  She felt herself smile despite all of this.  Her voice softened in compassion.  “Come on, soldier.  I got you.”

They really had to fight through the last few minutes of their trek.  Steve was losing it, his knees crumpling with every step, his posture bent and fairly broken against her.  He was rapidly becoming a two hundred and fifty pound burden, and she’d spent the final reserves of her energy long ago.  She concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other, on not falling, on the pain of the hot burn in her muscles contrasting with the cold burn of the wind slicing through her to keep going.  “Almost there,” she promised breathlessly.

“Yay,” he cheered just as breathlessly.  “Is it gonna… gonna be hot there?”

“Oh, yeah,” she promised, even though she had no idea.  “Hotter than you ever dreamed.”

“S-sounds good,” he whispered.  “I – I like you gettin’ m-me hot.”

There was something indescribably cute about him trying to flirt with her when he could hardly get the words out.  Something raw and selfless and very much _him._   So she laughed even though she didn’t quite feel like laughing and even if it shook with the cold and sounded humorless.  “You make it sound like I’m going to get you in there and rip your clothes off.”

“Y-you’re not?”

No, she was.  But they had to get there first.  “You gotta do your part and keep walking because I don’t think I can carry your heavy ass all the way up this hill.”

He frowned like he was realizing now that he was hurting her, weighing her down.  Or he was just lost up in his head and hypothermia.  “Thought you liked my ass,” he joked again, slurring more and more.

 _You know I do._   But she was too concerned and exhausted to continue their banter.  And she didn’t like the pained, lethargic glaze of his eyes, the slack expression taking over his face.  “Come on, babe.  Not much further.”

Not much further took a miserably long time of staggering feet and heavy, hurting breaths and violent shivering.  But they made it.  Natasha pushed Steve against the outside of the cabin (a _log_ cabin, because this whole mission wasn’t quite enough of a cliché) and half held him up, half reached to the keypad by the door.  She punched in the access code and then touched her thumb to the fingerprint scanner hidden beneath the keypad.  The doors unlocked.  _Thank God._   She readjusted her grip on Steve and dragged him out of the storm and into the house.  Then she shut the door behind them firmly and locked it.

Steve immediately crumpled.  “No,” she warned.  She was at his side instantly and preventing him from giving up.  “Nope.  Uh-uh.  Up, Captain.”  She got his helmet off, quickly maneuvering him deeper inside the cabin.  Once she was fairly certain he wasn’t going to collapse again, she quickly took stock of their surroundings.  Even in the thick darkness she could see that the place was… homier than she expected.  But, then, the two field agents who’d been monitoring the lab had been living here a few months, so she supposed it made sense.  This was definitely nicer than any safe house in which she’d been before.  The décor was rustic, the sort of thing you’d expect in a cabin, with oak paneling and wooden floors.  The ceiling was surprisingly high and lined with rafters.  There was a dark fireplace, a large dark green couch with a small fleece throw, and a kitchen to the right.  She helped Steve over to the sofa and lowered him onto it.  “Stay.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, slouching onto the couch.  He was almost shaking the entirety of it with his shivering.  Natasha hesitated about leaving him for a second, but they needed supplies, so she ran to the back.  One bedroom with a blanket and a pillow, which she snatched.  Then a supply closet.  The emergency generator controls were there, but she didn’t dare turn them on, not even to heat the cabin.  Any sign that the place was occupied could lead their pursuers right to them.  Luckily and much to her relief there were numerous space heaters, all battery-operated.  She grabbed two of them and a few bottles of nearly frozen juice before going back to the living room.  She deposited her finds, went back to the storage closet, took two more heaters, and snatched a shotgun and two handguns from the weapons rack on the wall.  Lastly she grabbed a small, handheld radio.  Arms full, she returned to Steve again.

He hadn’t moved much.  And he was starkly white in the heavy shadows, eyes closed tight in a wince with his lashes flush to his skin.  For an awful moment, she was afraid he wasn’t breathing.  But he was.  He cracked open his eyes to miserable slits and hazily watched her set down the heaters.  “What’re you waitin’ for?” he said sleepily.  “Come rip my – my clothes off.”

“Pushy,” she commented, but she picked up the pace, no matter how worn and weary she was herself.  He wasn’t shivering so much anymore, but she knew that wasn’t necessarily a good sign.  She didn’t need to take his pulse to know his heart was beating sluggishly and weakly.  Hypothermia was well on him, and its worst effects like delirium and respiratory or cardiac arrest could start suddenly. She dropped the guns and his shield to the floor beside the couch.  Then she set the space heaters around and quickly switched them on.  Feeling an immediate blast of gloriously hot air, she rushed back to Steve, bringing the quilt and the throw.  He made half an aborted effort to sit up, reaching for the buckles and laces of his boots.  His fingers were weak and tremoring so much that he couldn’t manage it.  “Let me.”  She knelt in front of him, as steady and quick as she could be as she got them off.  “Up.”  She grabbed him about the wrists and pulled.  “Come on.  We need to get you warm in a hurry.”  He groaned.  She was losing him quickly now, and he couldn’t pass out before she was certain he was regaining some body heat.  “Steve, come on.”

That got him going.  With seemingly monumental effort for him, he pushed himself up.  And the minute he was upright and more or less balanced, she did go at it, her fingers flying to the zippers on his stealth suit (she knew where they were – this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten him out of his uniform in a hurry).  She pulled the wet, rigid cloth away, frost-covered and practically sticking to his skin, peeling it off his torso.  He grunted as her hands went to his belt, undoing it with ease and yanking it free, and she slid the combat suit down his ridiculous eight-pack of abs, down his narrow hips and equally ridiculous thighs, until she was crouching to work it off his calves and feet.  She fumbled for her own boots while she was down there, kicking them off.  Finding the zipper to her own suit was harder; it was smaller, and her fingers were completely numb.  She pulled it down when she did finally get it, wriggling free of the black fabric.  Finally she stood bare save for her panties and bra, and he was only in his boxers.  She snatched up the blanket and wrapped it around his back before tucking herself against him and drawing it around them both.

Steve grunted again, his eyes still not quite focused but somehow glassy with not _just_ the cold.  “Don’t know if now’s the – the b-best t-time.  Can’t feel my le-legs, let alone–”

“Save it,” she admonished.  “Body heat.  Simple but effective.”

He must not have been too bad off to be flirting again.  Either that or he had lost all sense of sanity and self-preservation around her (which she suspected was the case, anyway).  “Just th-that?  No ulterior m-motive–”

“ _Save it,_ ” she insisted.  “Just breathe.”  He did.  Thankfully the blanket was big so with a little thought and effort she could reposition herself and tuck it around and between them around so she didn’t have to use her hands to hold it up.  Instead she put them on his sides, rubbing up and down gently but fairly vigorously.  She pressed herself flush to him, her breasts to his lower chest and wrapping her legs around his as much as possible.  God, his skin was like ice.  She knew enough first aid to warm his core before his limbs to keep the strain off his heart, so she concentrated on that, laying her flat hands on his stiff muscles across his chest and back.  He was breathing in labored, little pants, cool blasts against her hair where his head was tiredly braced atop hers.  His lips were blue, his face locked into a grimace.  She noticed now that his hair was frozen and that there were crystals of ice frosting his eyelashes.  And he was shivering again.  She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.  She was miserably _sure_ this was awful for him.  “Breathe, baby,” she whispered, closing her eyes against tears and trying not to let her concern color her tone too much.  She tucked her face into his sternum, cheek to his heart.  She could hear its sluggish, halting beat.  She needed that.  “Nice and easy.”

They stood like that for what seemed like a very long time, her arms around him to keep him upright, her fingers and palms tenderly and carefully caressing warmth into every bit of skin she could touch.  She kept her own breathing slow, a simple, comforting pace even though she was also frigid.  This didn’t feel like enough, not enough to get her warm, let alone him and he needed it _so badly_ because he’d practically drowned in dark, frigid water, trapped by ice and unable to escape, unable to get free…  _Don’t.  He’s okay._   _It’ll get better,_ she said to herself.  _Just keep going.  It’ll get better._   So she kept standing, kept him tightly in her embrace.  “You know what?”

He didn’t answer at first.  Then a guttural, “Hmm.”

“I’m changing my opinion of winter,” she admitted.  “I used to like it.  It was kind of a given, being Russian.  Had to like snow.  Had to like the cold.  Had to just to survive there.  So it’s never bothered me.  But I think, after this, I’m officially finished with winter.  Seen enough of it.  _Lived_ enough of it.  Like you said: to hell with it.”

He grunted again.  “Now you’re talking,” he whispered.

“No more ice.  No more snow.  No more wind and temps so low that it hurts to breathe…”  Even in DC, it had been a brutal winter so far, much colder than normal.  “How’s that sound?”

“Good.  ’m tired.”

“Stay awake,” she ordered a bit more firmly, and she starting rubbing harder at his skin, digging in a knuckle or two into between his ribs just to keep him conscious.

“’m awake,” he promised, his voice a murmur.  He slumped more into her.  If she hadn’t been there, strong and steadfast, he would have collapsed into a heap of frozen super soldier long ago.  “’m awake.”

Her lips curled into a smile.  She kissed his collarbone, gentling her hands again.  Silently she held him for quite a while longer, refusing to entertain any other thought than this being okay.  Than _him_ being okay.  And he was.  His shivering was slowing.  She didn’t notice at first, drifting herself, but when he groaned with relief into her hair, she realized it.  Just as she was realizing the pain and rigidity were at long last fading from his muscles.  They were pliant in her hands now, pliant with _warmth._   Moment by moment, breath by breath, the blanket and her body heat did the job, chasing away the threat of hypothermia.  And the little space heaters were doing their job, turning the room from an ice box to a moderately warmer (though it felt infinitely better for those few degrees) ice box.  This _was_ working.  Like a barrier, the blanket was keeping away the unbearably cold air, cocooning their pocket of heat around them.

When she was certain this was real and that he was alright, she pulled back only enough to look up.  Sure enough, color was coming back to his face.  The ashen white was gone, replaced by the tentative beginnings of a healthy, _rosy_ flush.  Natasha could have melted right there.  And she nearly did because she was so damn tired.  “Hey, soldier,” she whispered.

“Hmm,” he hummed again, eyes shut and body limp.

“What say we move this little furnace we’ve got going to the couch?”  He grunted something that was probably an agreement, so she smiled and shuffled them down to the sofa behind them.  He went easy, bending and collapsing with a soft “oomph” and half a wince.  She went in between his legs, carefully covering him with the quilt and the other throw, and massaged his chest a little more firmly now that the worst threat was over, trying to keep the heat trapped between them and the blood hot and flowing in his veins.  “Doing better?” she asked.

He cracked open eyes ringed in lilac, looking down on her all muzzy and lethargic.  “Yeah.”  Then the corner of his mouth quirked in a devilish smile.  “This what I think it is?”

She’d been so concerned with keeping hypothermia at bay that she had sort of forgotten that they were both practically naked.  And where she was.  She looked down to his dark blue boxers.  “Looks like a limp noodle to me,” she quipped.  “And what’s with you and the one-track mind?”

“Literal case of blue balls,” he whispered, and she couldn’t help a loud laugh at that.  He looked teasingly affronted.  “And it’s – it’s not just me.  You’re the one who said we should pick up where… where we left off this morning.”  He was speaking much more clearly and coherently.  That was good (even if he was apparently speaking with his libido instead of his head).

Confident he was alright now, she leaned up to kiss him before covering him with the quilt and grabbing the fleece throw.  She wrapped that around herself.  Even pulling away from him for a second was torturous for them both.  The cold surged between them, brutalizing bare skin, and he moaned and reached weakly for her.  “Just a sec.”  She leaned back and quickly gathered up the bottles of juice she’d put in front of the heaters before.  They’d gone from mostly frozen to fairly tepid.  Her fingers went numb again almost instantly, but she managed to unscrew the top off one.  “Drink.”

He tiredly shook his head.  “Not thirsty.”

“The sugar will help.  Drink.”

He knew better than to keep arguing, letting her help him hold the bottle and get it to his lips.  His hands were shaking, probably more from shock than the cold at this point, but he managed to take a few sizeable sips.  Once he was handling that okay on his own, she reached for her discarded cat suit just to make sure the USB stick with the data was still secure in her pouch.  It was.  Then she took the radio.  She punched in the SHIELD secure frequencies for the LA office.  “SHIELD five-three-seven, this is Black Widow.  Come in.”

There was nothing but static for a moment before a new voice replied.  Sitwell.  “This is five-three-seven.  What’s your status?  Over.”

Natasha watched Steve, observing more and more heat return to his face.  He drank more of the juice.  Almost all of the bottle was gone, so that was good.  And he focused on her easily.  Tiredly, but easily.  “Our situation is secure.  When can we expect med-evac?”

“Unfortunately tomorrow morning at the earliest,” Sitwell answered.  She thought she should be irritated, but somehow that wasn’t as bothersome as it normally would have been.  “Better hunker down for the night.  That alright?”

Natasha sniffled a little, nodding even though Sitwell couldn’t see it.  She supposed if she pressed, Sitwell would find a way to make the extraction happen tonight.  But the situation _was_ secure.  Steve was out of immediate danger.  They both were.  The blizzard outside had probably hidden their tracks at this point, so they weren’t likely to be followed.  And with the supplies here, they’d be warm and safe enough until morning.  “That’s fine.”

“Talk to you in the morning.  Five-three-seven out.”

Natasha set the radio down on the floor.  She grabbed another juice and chugged it down in two huge gulps.  Steve was watching her, listless on the couch.  He hadn’t moved a muscle.  And he was regarding her with a confused look in his eyes.  “What?” she questioned.  She tossed the empty bottle, moved the shotgun and his shield closer the sofa so they were within reach, and took up both of the handguns.  She made sure both were loaded before scooting closer to him on her knees, keeping the throw tight around herself.  “We’ve slept in worse.”

“We have,” he agreed.

She crawled up onto the couch beside him.  It took some effort on his part, but he lifted his arm so she could cuddle up next to him.  He was shivering anew, but so was she.  “This would have been awkward,” he said after a moment.  His voice was hoarse, not quite like himself, but he sounded so much better.  “You know, if it had happened before we started… you know.”

She smiled faintly against his chest.  “Yeah, well, we probably would have started _you know_ a lot sooner if I’d had to do that earlier.”  His eyes glanced to her breasts in her bra, and her grin turned decidedly smug.  She lifted the heavy blanket a little to check.  “Still a limp noodle?”

“Lord, Nat.  _Yes._ ”

She chuckled, covering his lower body more securely.  They were silent a moment, the wind whistling and whining loudly around the cabin.  The roof creaked.  Natasha felt colder again, and she pressed herself tighter to him.  “Wanna move to the bed?”

His response was immediate.  “Too far.  Too tired.”

“Too cold?”  He nodded.  “Lay down here then.”

He did, though it was sluggish and disjointed for him.  He lay mostly on his back, which pretty much consumed most of the space on the couch.  She went with him, eager to maintain contact.  Her arm shot out from beneath the blanket to strain for the discarded pillow on the floor, and squirming and stretching for a second or two won her her prize.  She put the pillow under his head, settling him before nestling her body between his legs so that she was mostly sprawled over his stomach and chest.  She worked wearily to ensure that every speck of bare skin was covered, hers and his both.  Once that was done, she laid down with her head tucked under his chin and the throw high to protect their heads and faces.

It was still cold, but this was tolerable.  He wasn’t nearly as icy as he had been.  She let her fingers ghost over his collarbone and sternum, tracing an invisible line just as she often did at home.  Immediately his breathing began to even out.  He was exhausted, and it would take nothing for him to drop down into sleep.  But the question that had been creeping about the back of her head ever since he’d fallen through the lake and she’d gotten him out unceremoniously demanded its due.  “Steve?”  He didn’t answer at first.  She grew a little bit more insistent, lifting her head until the mess of her auburn hair was drooping in front of her face.  She blew it aside.  “Steve.”

His eyes fluttered open.  She felt just the tiniest bit bad for waking him up.  “What?”

Suddenly she couldn’t make herself ask.  She faltered, watching his cloudy blue eyes, always so, so bright even like this, trying to see what she wanted to know without pressing him.  She couldn’t.  “I just…  I want to ask you something.  It’s kind of a personal question.”

Steve licked his lips and pushed himself up just slightly so he could see her eyes better.  He gathered his wits with remarkable aplomb, all things considering.  “Nat, we’ve been sleeping together for months.  Living together for months.  I told you months ago that I love you.”  He closed his eyes again, faintly smiling and rubbing his hand up her back to soothe away her shivers.  “I don’t think there’s anything personal left.”

She supposed that was true.  So she went for it, even though part of her was really afraid of the answer.  “Why are you so okay with this?”

“With what?”

She couldn’t tell if he was confused or unwilling to answer, and that made her hesitate more.  A part of her was definitely worried that even addressing this would make what was happening _not real_ , that it would send him right into the very thing she was happy (and surprised) he’d avoided.  But a bigger part of her just wanted to know, because if he _was_ ignoring it or internalizing it or hiding from the implications…  She loved him far too much to let him do that to himself.  “Why are you okay with what happened?  With… falling through?”

When he said nothing, his normally expressive face so oddly blank and empty, she was _horrified_ that exactly what she’d feared was happening.  This seeming state of _alright_ was a lie, a farce, a reaction of adrenaline.  Denial.  He was hiding it from her, from himself.

But it wasn’t so.  “I…  I don’t know.  It was terrifying, and of course it took me back, but…”  His hand stopped, pushed tenderly but possessively into her back, pressing her impossibly closer to him, and his fingers swept her messy hair from her face.  “I knew you were there.”

Heat unlike anything she’d ever really felt blossomed in her heart, slowly at first but then faster and more powerfully.  He grinned weakly, stroking his fingers down her cheek, and she reached up and kissed him soundly.  She scooched up more to deepen it, and he tangled his hand gently in her hair to keep her mouth to his.  Outside the storm was raging, but in here, there was nothing but calm and sweet contentment and a world of warmth between them.

* * *

It was early, _very_ early, in the morning when Natasha cracked open her eyes.  She winced a little at the gloomy light coming through the windows because even that was too bright.  Apparently she’d slept like the dead because she had absolutely no memory of anything after she’d let her aching eyes finally slip shut.  The cabin didn’t seem quite real, although a bunch of details she couldn’t see or hadn’t noticed the night before were obvious now.  Their clothes strewn all over.  The snow caked high on the window panes, which probably explained why everything was so dim.  The space heaters had all shut off during the night.  They probably shouldn’t have left them on and were damn lucky the cabin hadn’t been burned down around them.  Her nose was ice cold.  So were her toes.  But everything else…  She stretched a little, closing her eyes, and smiling happily.  Everything else was _warm._

And Steve was a _furnace._

He was hot beneath her, any traces of the hypothermia from the night before gone like they’d never been there.  Miles of warm, sleek, smooth skin that rose and fell over the swells of his muscles and the planes of his stomach.  She leaned up a little, the covers slipping down from around her head and shoulders, to drink in the sight of him.  He was still sleeping, the pink of his lips parted for deep, measured breaths, those lashes that were just _criminal_ dark against the paleness of his cheeks.  In her line of work, Natasha rarely appreciated beauty, let alone male beauty, but his was pretty undeniable.  Fleeting thoughts about getting up, getting dressed, assessing their situation and securing the cabin, contacting the field office about extraction…  Well, they were fleeting.  And she decided to keep it that way, sinking back down and nosing her face under his jaw and breathing him in.  It was a scent – something of the soap he used and clean sweat and just a hint of leather – that was uniquely him.  She let her eyes slip shut, let herself forget where they were for a little bit longer.

Until he shifted and she slid down his body a bit more and felt something that was _definitely_ not a limp noodle.

She smiled, ghosting her hand down over his body.  It felt a bit forbidden, even though it certainly wasn’t, and thrilling for reasons that she couldn’t understand since they’d been sleeping together for months already.  This felt different somehow.  Sex after a near-death experience was new.  And this was a _tad_ on the selfish side.  Just a tad.  They had a job to do, a mission to complete and data to deliver.  But, then, SHIELD had interrupted their day off and put them through all of that yesterday.  They could be selfish, have a few minutes to themselves…  Couldn’t they?  She pressed a few light kisses to his jaw.  “Steve,” she whispered into his skin.  He didn’t stir much.  With her free hand, she stroked up and down his chest under the quilt.  “Steve.”  She pressed her lips to his throat, finding his pulse without too much trouble.  It was slow and steady, and she sucked the spot tenderly.  “Steve…” she sing-songed.

“Hmm,” he hummed.  His eyelids fluttered.  “What?”

“How are you doing?” she asked softly, kissing his throat more.  A day’s worth of stubble prickled against her lips.  “Feeling good now?”

“Yeah,” he murmured.  “Warm.”  He cracked open an eye with great effort, looking down on her.  “Did we survive?”

Her dancing fingertips got a little bolder, the flat of her palm skirting over his abdomen.  “We always do.”  She went lower still, dragging the nail of her index finger around his navel, scratching just a little.  “But… maybe a little proof of life is in order.”

“That’s just… _really_ awful.”  He closed his eyes again, but she knew it was a farce.  She’d seen the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he’d swallowed hard, felt a little anticipatory flutter in the muscles under her teasing hand.  “Do you save every…”  He swallowed again even harder still as her hand danced down into the faint dusting of hair at the waistband of his boxers.  “…every bad line for me?  You don’t need to.  I’m fine without ’em.”

“Sure you are,” she purred as she kissed her way down his chest.  Any idea of being chaste and careful was fading now, and she laved hot, open-mouthed things upon him that were as much tantalizing nips as they were tender.  “Like now I’ve got you back where I wanted you.”

He managed to cock an eyebrow, managed to look wan despite the flood of arousal in his eyes and the bright blush creeping down his face and neck.  “Here.  In a safe house.  Buried in snow.”  She arched an eyebrow again suggestively before lifting the blankets over her head and slinking down lower.  As she cupped him through his underwear, he gasped out, “On a mission!” like some last ditch effort into (not really) talking some sense into her.

Sense had long since fled.  Maybe it was silly and trite (and cliché, she supposed), but she _did_ want some proof of life after almost losing him last night.  And she got what she wanted.  He was already hard by the time she touched him, as she pulled down his boxers to free him and kiss him, so she figured he wasn’t going to need much convincing (not that he ever did.  Steve Rogers was a blushing virgin once upon a time but definitely _not anymore_ , thank you very much).  And he kept babbling between moans and grunts and fast-paced breaths and an occasional whimper as she curled her hand around him and stroked.  “I thought you said…  Nat, God – thought you swore we weren’t ever...  Lord Almighty – _ever_ going to do this on a mission!”

She pulled her nibbling lips off him for a second and raised the blankets to smirk.  “I lied,” she said matter-of-factly.  “Are you surprised?  That’s what I do.”  She held his gaze, saw the heat in his eyes, his pupils blown so wide they were nearly black, as she kissed her way up and down his length.  “Anyway, we deserve it.”

She finally got her mouth all around him, and he thrust upward in a halting, aborted movement.  She caught his hips, curling her nails into his flanks sharply, and held him down.  It was ludicrous to think she had the power to hold him anywhere, but here and now and every other time like this, she dreamed she was the strongest woman in the world to reduce Captain America to soft whines and complete pliancy.  She felt his fists curl in the blanket helplessly, felt the muscles in his thighs and belly shift and relax and contract as he struggled to hold on.  In the beginning, when he’d been completely new at this, she’d been more cautious, more coaxing, wanting to learn his body as much as she was teaching him hers.  Now, months later, she knew exactly how far to bring him before it was _too_ far, and she went there and pulled him back and then dragged him to the edge again until he was writhing against the torture.

Until he got frustrated and sat up with a groan, knocking her away.  The blankets fell, baring his naked chest to the cold, cold air.  “Holy hell, that’s cold!”  She laughed as he scrambled to cover himself again, shivering almost instantly as he threw the blanket around his body like a cape and pushed her onto her back.  He was too big, too heavy, to really stop him, and in a blink she went from the world’s most powerful woman to his willing (oh so willing) prisoner.  His bulk crushed her just the right amount into the couch cushions, his mouth claiming hers hotly.  The kiss was wild, something skirting the edge of complete debauchery.  He licked his way into her mouth, and she eagerly let him, his tongue darting deep inside.  Somehow she hooked her thumbs into his boxers and got them down so he could kick them off.  It was a minor miracle that she’d that much coordination with his hands brushing over her breasts.  He let her take a breath, one that he fairly instantly stole with another searing kiss.  She moaned into his mouth, twining her hands in his hair as his fingers dipped into the cups of her bra.  He teased, mouthing at her jaw and then her throat, lavishing little bites and suckles of his own.  Natasha arched her back into him, chasing the heat of his mouth and giving him access to the clasps of her bra.  He fumbled there a moment that went on way too long before getting them undone.  Then he leaned up so she could fling it aside.

“Damn, that _is_ cold,” she gasped when a blast of icy air snuck between them again, immediately prickling gooseflesh all over her body.  “Get back here.”  She hooked him about the neck and yanked him down.  “I believe you were supposed to get me all nice and hot.  You’re shirking in your duties, soldier.”

“Am I now?” he breathed in her ear in a tone that made her shiver not at all with the cold.  His hands went right to her breasts, squeezing their way in between his chest and hers, and he worked on smoothing the dimpled skin there, wiping away the little dots from the cold.

As nice as that was, it wasn’t quite what she wanted.  She pushed his face away from hers, guiding his mouth down, and arching again until he kissed his way to her peaked nipples.  “Steve…”  His mouth latched over one, his fingers teasing the other.  She gasped, pleasure pooling right in her core, her own fingers tight in his hair to keep him exactly where he was until he decided the other side had been neglected far too long.  The contrast of the wet heat of his mouth and the icy air was electrifying, deliciously unbearable.  Every place his lips touched tingled with fire, blissful and sweetly tormenting, and her breaths were short gasps and long sighs and little clouds of mist into the cold air.  His other hand was drifting down between her legs, teasing with light brushes before delving deeper under her panties.  She gave an undignified squeal and then an even less dignified throaty moan as he touched her, his turn to stroke and caress.  And when his fingers found their way inside her, she yanked up the blanket over both their heads like they were a couple of horny teenagers secretly making out in her bedroom.  He gave as good as he got, and she’d taught him very well what she liked so he knew exactly where to press, what to touch, how hard and fast to do it, how to make her beg for him.  He kissed his way down her belly, exploring her skin, pinning her down completely with a hold she knew she could never break and leaving her helpless.  And she begged.  She _begged_.  “Steve, please…  _Please…_ ”  He crooked his fingers just right, again and again, smiling up at her now with a mischievous grin.  He was so pleased with himself.  And she was so close.  She was so…  “Oh, God!  Steve!”

He leaned up to kiss her again, laughing into her mouth.  “You sure you want to do this?” he teased, still touching and caressing and probing until she was a wanton, whimpering mess right on the edge.  “You sure, Nat?”

“Rogers, _you ass,_ don’t you dare…” she growled, trying to keep a keening moan contained.  The pleasure was too much, too hot but _not enough_ , and she quivered as he kissed her again, swallowing down that moan.

He pulled up, his hand slipping from between her legs and wresting a frustrated, disappointed whimper from her lips.  “Because, you know, SHIELD could just show up without calling first.  That’s happened before.”  She supposed that was true.  “It’s risky.”

 _To hell with that._ She growled louder, sitting up and shoving him back.  “Isn’t it always?” she breathlessly asked, devouring him with her gaze and then with her mouth and hands and everything else she had.

They didn’t talk much after that.  It took a little maneuvering for her to slip out of her panties, for him to stretch out his legs beneath her, for her to settle into his lap and for them both to keep the blankets tight around them.  This wasn’t only hot now.  It was positively steamy, the air between them damp and slick and humid with desperate pants and wet kisses.  She rocked against him, torturing, watching the pleasure and frustration play its away across his face until he’d had enough.  He grabbed her hips probably tight enough to bruise, stilling her little gliding movements and pointedly pushing up inside her.  Natasha couldn’t help but fling her head back, exposing the tender flesh of her throat to his tongue and teeth.  He held her firmly motionless, worshiping the skin of her neck and her shoulders, waiting and purposefully trying her patience.  In short order, she couldn’t stand it anymore, scratching her nails lightly down his back as a warning that he needed to let her go.  When he did, she moved, hard and fast.  He did, too, meeting her every time.  He thrust up, and she pushed down, and every movement of him inside her was incredible.  Hot and thick and sliding and driving her deep into ecstasy until she was clinging to him with her arms around his neck and her thighs quivering and tight to his hips.  This always took her breath away, being this close to him, nothing but sweat and a breath or two between them, heart to heart and soul to soul.  This was what it meant to make love, to be in love, to have love inside and to _know_ it.

Eventually the rhythm turned less frantic and steadier as they both found their way toward the high they were seeking.  She braced her forehead to his, his powerful arms around her lower back and bottom and guiding her.  Their kisses were messy, sloppy.  Lazy, like it was too much work to properly kiss given the haze of bliss inside them and between them.  A particularly deep movement had Steve groaning and her gasping and squeezing her eyes shut.  Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and she sucked it lightly, melting more and more into him as he drove her further and further.  The pleasure coiling in her belly twisted impossible _tighter_ , and her release hit her hard and unexpectedly.  She bit out a muffled whimper into his shoulder, blinded and deafened and overwhelmed by her climax.  When she came back to herself, she tasted salt, sweat, mindlessly mouthing at the nape of his neck.  He’d eased her through it, gentling his movements, and now he was sweeping his hands comfortingly up and down her back.  That made her shiver, and she sagged into him, spent and content to float through the fading ecstasy.  “Okay?” he finally whispered.  Too overthrown to speak, she just nodded and hung onto him.

He twisted forward, careful to lay her gently down but desperate as well and never losing contact.  His mouth claimed hers again, more persistent now, hungrier, and she gathered energy to clench her thighs around his flanks and her body around him.  He moved harder, faster.  “Come on,” she encouraged into his ear.  “I’ve got you.  Let go.”

He did with a choked off cry, eyes shut and lips slick and bitten red and pulled taut.  She watched him ride out the moment, entranced by how he was consumed by it, and she could only think that he was beautiful like this, lost in his pleasure.  And it was something of a dark thought, a possessive, sultry thing, but she was so absolutely, wickedly proud that _she_ was the only one who could do this to him.

Wrung out and seemingly boneless once again, he slumped down on her.  She trapped his body to hers, wrapping her legs around his hips and curling her toes into his calves to keep him close as he breathed in damp, shuddering pants into her neck.  “Oh, Nat…” he moaned.  “Nat.  Love you so much.  So much.”  He mouthed weakly at her throat, exhausted little kisses.

“Love you, too,” she whispered into his hair.  She closed her eyes, let down all the walls and the masks and everything she was.  She gave everything inside to him.  “Love you, too.”

They lay like that for quite some time, too exhausted to move, too sated to care.  But the frigid air turned cooling sweat into shivers and tremors, and Steve reached behind to gather the rumpled, discarded blankets.  A little bit of work had him lying on his side and her back against his chest, wrapped in his arms and the covers.  His warm breath caressed the back of her neck, lips light and worshipful on her skin.  She ran her hand up and down his forearm where it crossed her breasts, the hair there fine and soft to her fingertips and let her mind wander.

“Making love on a mission,” he finally mumbled into her shoulder.  “Dunno if that’s a new low or a new high.”

“New high,” she quickly said.  “Definitely.”  He grunted appreciatively, and she turned, catching his lips for a slower, deeper kiss.  “What can I say?  I did what you told me to do.  I made the best of the situation.”

“Being alone and snowed in?”

“It is kinda nice.”

The radio suddenly crackled, drawing their attention, and Sitwell’s unwelcomed voice resounded from the little speaker.  “Black Widow, come in.  This is SHIELD five-three-seven, over.”

Annoyed, she snaked a hand out from under the blanket.  “This is Black Widow,” she said into the radio.  “Go ahead.”

“The storm’s finally breaking,” came a reply.  “The pilots think they can make a run for you now, but they’d prefer to wait another few hours until things really settle.  What’s your status?”

She glanced at Steve, at his handsome face with its healthy flush, at his blissed out eyes and dopey, tired grin.  He arched an eyebrow at her.  “I have this under control,” she replied simply.  “Another few hours is fine.”

Sitwell paused like he was surprised.  “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Roger.  Will keep you advised.”

Satisfied, she turned the volume on the radio down much lower and returned it to the floor.  Then she rolled, squirming in the narrow confines of the couch to turn into Steve’s chest and burrow deeper into his glorious body heat.  He seemed a little surprised.  “You don’t want to get out here?”

“Nah.”  She planted kisses down his chest, tickling, teasing kisses.  “They owe us for ruining our day off.”  He chuckled, holding her tighter.  “Besides,” she said as she pulled the blanket up over them both and snuggled as close as she could, “it’s cold outside.”

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Check out this lovely artwork inspired by this story made by the always generous and sweet [lbs29](http://lbs29.tumblr.com)!


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